


Methodus Pugnandi

by epicycles



Category: Duel With Manuel - Ppallo (Tweet)
Genre: Dueling, Homoeroticism, Lack of Self-Awareness, Multi, extremely dramatic gentlemen, lack of other-awareness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicycles/pseuds/epicycles
Summary: "Weep for me, my love, for today I die."Martina nodded absently, as she dug in the linen chest for a suitable picnic blanket.  "Yes, my love. It's very tragic."Based on this tweet: https://twitter.com/Ppallo/status/1303385018157408256
Relationships: It's Complicated
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Methodus Pugnandi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blindmadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindmadness/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!
> 
> I hope this is something like what you wanted, my dear Recipient. I have to say I have never written fic for a Tweet before, but hey it's 2020 why the heck not! Thank you for a delightful set of prompts, it was hard to choose but I hope you enjoy what I came up with.
> 
> Setting is vaguely-historical, vaguely-Catalonia. A little inspiration drawn from Kate Beaton's Nemesis comics. "Methodus Pugnandi" refers to the formal terms of a duel (time, place, weapon, etc.) traditionally arranged by the seconds.

"Weep for me, my love, for today I die."

Martina nodded absently, as she dug in the linen chest for a suitable picnic blanket. "Yes, my love. It's very tragic."

She hovered a hand over the pie cooling on the windowsill: nearly done. Happily Iolanda had agreed for a duel at noon rather than dawn; Martina had always hated nighttime baking and frankly a duel without pie was worse than no duel at all. She began slicing bread for the sandwiches.

"Do you think Manuel will aim for my heart?" Diego patted at the open throat of his shirt, tugging the deep vee down to show a little more of his chest and collarbone. "Dare I hope for a quick death?"

"Surely not, my love. Manuel has never been one to rush."

Diego resumed practicing his Agrippa defense, his sword flashing but with a faint tinge of red to his cheeks. "Death by a thousand cuts. Such bliss."

A rogue swing of his sword caught in the tasseled curtain pulls and tangled there. Diego gave a cry of despair and flung himself upon the couch, knocking the cushions askew. "It is useless! I am not half the swordsman Manuel is. Perhaps I should poison my blade like Laertes -- I need not strike a killing blow, merely a scratch would be enough."

Martina tensed, knife pausing in its work. "I don't recall that ending well for Laertes."

"True. What would I do without you, my love?"

"Fight fewer duels, for one. Who else would ever agree to be your second? No one would risk a fight with Manuel in your place, he is too deadly. But he is too honorable to fight a woman, so I am safe."

She finished slicing the bread. How to carry it all? Perhaps she could find a basket.

Diego snatched her hand as she passed, kissing it passionately. "Yet you guard my reputation as jealously as I do. If I were struck down this very moment with fever I have no doubt that you should take to the field of honor in my place."

She patted his hand. "Of course, my love. I should not hesitate for a moment."

"How unlucky I am to be of such good health!" Diego lamented. "Though it shall last for barely another hour. My doom awaits me, there is no escape from the tip of Manuel's saber."

"You could apologize."

Diego shot upright. "Never! Better to be dead than to be so dishonored!"

Martina wrapped the sandwiches in paper and tucked them into the basket, along with the blanket. "And that is why I love you so, my dear."

~~~~~

It was a pretty spot they had chosen. Wooded and well-concealed, shaded from the noonday sun, birds chirping in the trees.

Martina paced out the square, dropping handkerchiefs to mark the bounds, while Diego removed his coat, waistcoat, cravat, and shirt. Only his breeches, stockings and shoes remained -- and his swordbelt, of course. He fussed with his shoe buckles, his clubbed pigtail, the exact hang of his scabbard.

"Are you ready, my love?"

Diego nodded and took her into his arms for one last kiss. "If I am to die this day, let it be with a sweet memory of my beloved wife in my arms."

She left Diego to his anguished sword-polishing and looked for Iolanda. Not a difficult task -- Iolanda sat beneath the great oak tree that overlooked the small clearing, her skirts spread daintily, sipping from a tiny delicate cup. Manuel was nowhere to be seen.

Martina trotted up with the basket. "Bon dia, Iolanda."

"Bon dia, Martina!" They kissed cheeks. "How is Diego this morning?"

"In fine form. All morning he lay on the divan with an arm over his eyes, reciting the names of all those who have lost their lives on the point of Manuel's sword."

Iolanda snorted. "Lost their virtue to it, more like"

"A little death is still a death," Martina chided. "It was not a lie. Though I count myself lucky that he has never sought to pay respects to their graves."

Iolanda took hold of the basket with proprietary eagerness. "Oh! It smells glorious. You've outdone yourself."

Beside them, a bottle of wine stood ready beside a plate of grapes and cheese. Martina inspected it with a critical eye, then popped the cork and poured them each a generous glass.

"Is it a good pairing? You said cucumber and tomato sandwiches but I was unsure of the bread."

"It will serve admirably," Martina said. She collected a share of the dainties and sat back to observe the excitement. "Where is Manuel?"

"Waiting to make his entrance." Iolanda gestured to the opposite end of the clearing. "We've been here since ten o'clock, may God preserve me, to be sure of arriving before you."

As if on command, Manuel stepped from a dense copse of trees onto the field of combat. He wore a light banyan coat that he quickly shed, leaving him as Diego, bared to the waist in only riding boots and close-cut trousers.

Martina fanned herself. "Iolanda, forgive me for ever suggesting a formal dress code. Your judgment is impeccable as always."

Iolanda merely took a sandwich smugly and waved to her husband. Martina nibbled on hers with a dry mouth.

"My love!" Diego called from the little dell. "Has the matter been settled?"

Martina swallowed quickly. "No, my love! He will have no other satisfaction but to fight!"

"So be it."

They put down their sandwiches to watch. Iolanda had brought a delicate set of opera glasses, which Martina envied. She herself had brought a small caplock pistol loaded with powder but no shot.

She raised it high over her head and fired -- the signal to begin.

Diego leapt forward with a ferocious slash; Manuel effortlessly spun away. Then a few thrusts and parries, then thrusts again. Martina dug in the basket for another sandwich.

She was considering whether a third sandwich was too gluttonous when Iolanda elbowed her harshly.

"Here! Watch."

Manuel had lured Diego closer to where the ladies were observing, leaving openings to tempt him and then closing them again before the touch. Step by step, sweat glistening on backs and shoulders, they danced closer as Diego thrust and Manuel parried, Diego thrust and Manuel parried, Diego thrust --

\-- and his sword slid past Manuel's guard, catching his chest with a bright flash of blood. Manuel cried out, stumbled back, fell to the ground.

There was a moment of held breath and silence.

"No!" Diego cried out, dropping his sword. He dashed forward, gathering Manuel in his arms. "Why did you not parry? You were supposed to parry!"

Manuel whispered something and Diego dropped his head close in order to hear. He shook his head, answering with obvious emotion but too quietly to be overheard.

Martina glanced at Iolanda's opera glasses -- if only such a thing existed for the ears! Catching her eye, Iolanda handed them to her with a generous flourish.

The glasses provided an excellent view of Manuel's bloodied torso, his half-lidded eyes, Diego's agonized face and trembling hands.

Manuel lifted a bloody palm to Diego's cheek; Diego held it there with his own. More murmurs, more head shakes. Perhaps a glimmer of tears? Diego's head dropped lower, eyes closing, lips parting --

The watchers leaned forward in anticipation --

Then Diego sat back, releasing Manuel. "Is your honor satisfied? Is this business concluded?"

Manuel nodded, looking more pained than he had while being stabbed.

Martina and Iolanda sighed. Martina took another bite of her sandwich. Such a disappointment.

Diego had now retreated back across the ground to his small pile of clothing; Manuel reclined on his elbows, poking despondently at what looked to be a shallow gash across his ribs.

Martina winced in sympathy. "Poor Manuel."

"Not poor Manuel, poor me! Such a series of complaints I shall hear, it is worse than if he had been skewered through and through. And to have failed again! Manuel shall never have his satisfaction at this rate."

"I'm sure he can find some elsewhere," Martina said diplomatically.

"And of course he will put on his shirt, right over the blood, which defeats the purpose of removing it in the first place. Another ruined shirt to be cleaned. Or replaced! It grows expensive, you know. Inconsiderate."

Manuel and Diego were now making their way up the hill, wearing their shirts but carrying the rest, Diego's hand on Manuel's elbow solicitously. Martina began slicing the pie.

"Has honor been satisfied?" Martina asked with polite attention.

"Yes. The offense has been answered, honor is restored." Manuel took her hand and kissed it in greeting, the flash of a rakish grin bringing color to her cheeks. She couldn't blame Diego, not really. What was a little impatience, with such a prize to be won?

The two sat close as Manuel allowed Diego to bandage the wound, offer him pie and pour him wine. He winced and moaned in exaggerated pain, making Martina laugh and Iolanda roll her eyes as he winked at them over Diego's head.

Once the bandaging was complete and the pie consumed, the re-enactment began, as Manuel began to discuss the strategies and tactics of the day's bout using grapes skewered by thin sticks. Diego watched with rapt attention, nodding and refilling Manuel's wine glass.

Content to listen and daydream, now that the excitement was over, Martina turned her face up towards the sky. The sun shone brightly through the leaves; a playful breeze ruffled her hair. She could feel the blanket beneath her tug gently with the movements of Diego, Manuel, Iolanda.

A beautiful day, truly.

"Of course, that offhanded cut would be considered cheating in the French school of fencing, though of course the vulgar Italian --"

"How dare you! To be accused of cheating, on the field of honor, no less! I demand satisfaction!"

"To cheat is surely the greater offense! You shall hear from me, sir!"

Diego and Manuel stormed away in opposite directions.

Martina swallowed the last of her fourth sandwich, licked her fingers and began packing up the basket. "Delightful as always, Iolanda. Same time next week?"

"Of course. It will be my turn to bake -- what do you think about a raspberry tart?"

Martina kissed her cheek. "It's a date."


End file.
